


Drowning

by Lulzy (likelolwhat)



Series: For the Love of a Meme [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Community: skyrimkinkmeme, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, M/M, Skyrim Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2528933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likelolwhat/pseuds/Lulzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragonborn has many regrets, and on one strange night in the ruins of Riverwood they come back to haunt him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drowning

**Author's Note:**

> De-anoning from the skyrimkinkmeme, [this prompt](http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4580.html?thread=8553956#t8553956).

Yves pushed open the door to the Sleeping Giant with a sigh. No one greeted him, not anymore.

He’d never liked stopping in Riverwood, not since the dragon attack of the year before. Most of his favorite people had moved to Whiterun for the safety of the walls, or had died in the flames. A blue mountain flower graced Dorthe’s grave, on the riverbank where she’d loved to play, already; he replaced the plant each time he passed through the mountains on his travels. Blue mountain flower; a plant associated with life and youth. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

The inn had been abandoned despite being intact, Orgnar and the bard moved on to greener pastures (Embry, another of the dead, was buried out in front of his favorite watering hole), and the store was much the same. The only reason Riverwood was still on the map was the lumber mill now, run by Gerdur and Hod only; the other workers were gone. Yves rather suspected that the two of them only stayed because it was all they had ever known.

He hadn’t thought anyone else was still living in Riverwood, but as he stepped in and unslung his pack, ready to see about setting up in one of the abandoned rooms, he heard a groan from somewhere in the vicinity of the bar.

Yves had his dagger drawn and an icebolt ready to fire so fast that he surprised himself. There was a lamp burning low on the bartop, sending just enough light to see by flickering across the walls. That in itself was very, very strange, as Gerdur and Hod would have no reason to enter the inn unless a particularly bad summer storm ripped through. Someone else was in the inn — a squatter, perhaps? A thief?

“Who’s there?” Yves called. “Show yourself!”

“Talos, man, leave me to drink in peace!” came a hoarse voice from behind the bar, a voice that sounded familiar despite being heavily slurred. Yves couldn’t quite place it, however. He inched around the bar, past long-abandoned bottles of Honningbrew Mead covered in dust — though clean circles on the countertop indicated there had been at least half a dozen there that were now gone.

A mop of stringy, dark hair came into view, belonging to a man sitting against the back side of the bar where Orgnar had once stood. Another step and Yves could see the brown and red leather of a Legion uniform. At that moment Yves’ heart sank down into the pit of his stomach.

He hadn’t thought he would ever see Hadvar again, and given whose side he had taken in the War, he didn’t particularly want to. Hadvar had been a friend, yes, and his passionate defense of the Legion was tempting, but larger voices called and now he imagined their friendship lay in as many tatters as the Legion banners on Castle Dour. He hadn’t thought his decision to support Ulfric would come back to bite him on such a personal level. For Mara’s sake, he’d thought Hadvar was long dead, killed in the war that had driven so many Nord brothers to die.

But he should have known that the Divines wouldn’t let him get away with it so easily.

“Hadvar…” he murmured, dispelling the ice bolt but leaving his dagger drawn. Considering how many of Hadvar’s peers and commanders Yves had slain personally, he didn’t want to leave anything to chance if the Nord attacked him. He didn’t want to have to injure or kill Hadvar — despite his obvious drunkenness now, Yves remembered how incredibly attractive he’d found the man when they had been friends — but he still had more things to do, even after slaying Alduin. It seemed his destiny would never be done.

Hadvar’s head whipped around and he peered at Yves. He made a noise halfway between a gasp and a choke. “You bastard!”

But he made no move to rise, and Yves detected that the water in Hadvar’s eyes was just as much from tears as it was from mead. He said nothing, but put his free hand on the bar and leaned down, trying to get his regret to show on his face. After he spent so much time schooling his features to reveal nothing, to go back to showing every thought was difficult. But he would be vulnerable, for Hadvar.

“You— you acted like my friend, but then you turn around and— and you back the Stormcloaks? You prefer that racist nar— narci— self-loving jerkass to _me?_ ”

Yves swallowed hard. This wasn’t as bad as he’d thought; it was worse. “I’m sorry, Hadvar.”

“You’re _sorry?_ ” Hadvar slumped back against the bar, clutching a bottle of Honningbrew like it was the only thing keeping him afloat. He wasn’t looking at Yves anymore. “You’re sorry…”

“Yes, I am sorry. Ulfric is an egomaniac, this is true. And I was foolish enough to fall for his talk of Nord pride and Skyrim’s future.”

Hadvar barked out a laugh, making the Breton flinch back, but tears followed soon after. “Gods,” he sobbed, “I can’t even hate you anymore. What am I supposed to do now? I saw Dorthe’s grave, you know. Fuck, I hadn’t even known she was dead…”

Yves sheathed his dagger and grabbed a dusty bottle of Honningbrew Mead, sliding to the floor next to Hadvar. The man stunk of booze, but Yes didn’t mind. Soon he would, too.

Later, they would wake up hungover in Delphine’s old bed, naked and covered in each other’s spunk, and only the burning in Yves’ ass would reveal who had fucked who that night. But for now, all they had, all they needed was to vent, to confess, and to reminisce. And long after the lamp burned out and Yves’ magelight was sent revolving around their heads, they stayed up, breaking old bonds and forging theirs anew.

**Author's Note:**

> Yves' feelings concerning Ulfric are very similar to my own, as I sided with the Stormcloaks on my first playthrough of Skyrim. Since then I have decided that the Empire is the (much) lesser of two evils.


End file.
